Sunday, July 31, 2011

Did you notice that I'm posting again? That's what happens when you treat the drought-stricken rural folk with four inches of rain. It's taken three weeks of scattered showers, but we no longer feel so sere.

Oh, Diane, what is the name of the writer who writes the coffee-shop mysteries? The one with the lovely chocolate-covered cherry recipe?

A few chocolate-covered cherries with a side of ice cream and a cup of coffee would make a good dessert at Christmas, no?

Saturday, July 30, 2011

A friend sent me an email with the results of the Bulwer-Lytton bad prose contest. A comment from the the writer of the article and the entry follow:

To take the prize for best purple prose, Mike Pedersen of North Berwick, Maine, relied on a thesaurus'-worth of synonyms:

"As his small boat scudded before a brisk breeze under a sapphire sky dappled with cerulean clouds with indigo bases, through cobalt seas that deepened to navy nearer the boat and faded to azure at the horizon, Ian was at a loss as to why he felt blue."

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Ain't that cool?

I need some stone-ground grits to do Susan Spicer's recipe properly. I found a listing for the Louisiana Pride Grist Mill in Pride, LA, up the road from Fred. (Gotta love that -- I live in Fred, or Alice, or Nancy, or Thomas.)

The upshot is that I am going to meet the miller at the local McDonald's for delivery of freshly milled stone-ground grits around 7 am on Saturday. He and his wife will be on their way to a camp at Larto Lake near Jonesville.

Friday, July 01, 2011

Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.

Today I lost a nearly brand new pair of shoes. I'd worn them once (and they are comfortable), and thought I'd tucked them under the bed (since son 2 is living in the big guest room where my closet is).

I remembered taking them off and changing into cloppers, then nothing. I looked high and low, under chairs and sofas and counters and tables, in cabinets and drawers, on shelves and mantels. Nothing. They were gone.

Lyman said, "Don't tell me they were walking shoes."

I was sitting on the edge of the bed wondering who would do me such a dirty trick when it occurred to me that I had put them in the shoe sleeve hanging on the inside of the foyer closet door. Voila!